Blue Balloons
by myownmistress
Summary: Gravity can  go to hell.


_**Blue Balloons**_

"_I pity the fool that falls in love with you"_

_-Fuck You, Cee Lo Green_

Once upon a time, Cat Valentine skinned her knee and named the scar Teddy.

{\}

At first, you hated her.

You hated that she walked with pride, every step worth its own applause. You hated that she was everything you weren't; confident. You clenched your fists until your oh so perfect nails left crescent shaped incisions on your oh so perfect palm. Because you hated that she had him.

But you snapped out of it because babe, you're incapable of hating anyone but yourself. And so you break into her pumpkin wall barriers, not bothering to make yourself a pie on the way, and become her best friend.

You don't know how, but you did, all the while aiming at the target holding her hand.

Beck.

{/}

No matter how many times you crossed your fingers into an X over your heart, for some fucked up reason, he always infected you.

{\}

You don't know when or why it happened.

When you ceased to think about rainbows over a sea of red hues, cute purple unicorns prancing through a meadow of yellow Peeps, and pretty little puppies. Or when you began to let your mind wander to silky black hair running through your fingers and the sensation of a certain boy's tan skin on yours.

Or when you lost your innocence.

{/}

You like to tell yourself that you're awesome just because no one else will.

{\}

You kiss him in the closet, and, to your surprise, he kisses back.

He's fervent and wanting and just so God damn hot. You're not. You are trying to be gentle, trying to suck on his lip, but his forceful kisses split your open. You won't complain, though. It's what you wanted, right? Your legs are off of the ground, trashing around, nothing but the force of his body keeping you up. And you love it cause you feel like you are floating in a vast sea of clouds.

Gravity can go to hell.

You start to speak sweet words furtively into his lips, can once you do, it is finished.

You fall to your knees, the imprint of his hands linger on your waist. You watch him walk out, knowing exactly who he'll run to. You peer through the glass pane, explosions of plaid kisses and rainbow hopes still visible through your eyelids.

You watch him bring Jade's lips to him. You wonder if he still tastes like you; like bubble gum, blood, and broken raindrops.

You don't know who you are anymore.

{/}

If you were a balloon, you'd be a blue one so that you'd merge in with the sky when you float away.

{\}

It's been seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen second exactly since you kissed him.

Since he kissed you.

You've always loved to count: how many times a butterfly flaps its wings, the petals on a flower, and the number of crumbs left behind by a red velvet cupcake. Now, you tally the number of times the blade severs your pale skin and how many drops of crimson blood the wound can cry.

You want to dream about him tonight. You long for his face to wreak havoc in your consciousness and rip your state of mind apart. You crave for his lips to burn away all of your still memories and kiss new ones into place.

You want him to make you normal again.

{/}

Maybe, possibly, one day, someday, the sea will rise, and you'll drown in his river of love.

{\}

You skip school because you won't face the fact that he'll ignore you again.

You run to the big oak tree (you're so cliché it hurts) and situate yourself on its roots. You'd love it if they ripped up the ground and held you tight, stroking your skin and healing your blood. But, it can't, no matter how many times you throw a pebble (you can't afford to toss a penny) into the wishing well.

It just can't.

So you cry into your hands, and, maybe, your tears may be bleeding, you don't know if the red's just your hair. It takes you a while to realize that he's next to you, staring right into your soul.

Your breathing hitches cause he always makes you nervous.

"I hate what we're doing."

"I love what we've become."

{/}

They say it takes forty-three muscles to frown, and seventeen to smile. How many does it take to scream?

{\}

You yearn to touch him.

You have an appetite for his hands on you pores again and his lips on your pulse point one more time. His heart had explored your body, beating in sync with yours. You're selfish for wanting him once more, huh?

You grip the cream sheets closer to your body, hoping in vain that you were the only one he took in this bed. Your already pale knuckles gradually lose their color, all the blood pumping back to your heart, your body striving to keep you breathing. You look at his sleeping form and wonder how the hell he managed to get so much as a nap.

He never even paid attention to your wrists.

Perhaps, he's dreaming of you, your red hair lighting up his cave.

No. You never cross his mind.

He's slick with sweat, the moon's light gleaming off of his skin with enormous prowess. He doesn't understand why you'll always whisper _I love you, _but you know why he'll never say it back.

{/}

You two never had a first date. You doubt you'll ever have a last one, either.

{\}

Negative.

It's the fifth one you've tested, and the fifth that said no. You should be overwhelmed with glee because you're sixteen, not equipped to be a mother.

But you are not.

And frantically, you're pissed off. Because if your belly engorged, then you may turn into something for him. Perhaps, you will be able to obtain a special place in his heart, or, at least, make it beat. If only once.

Maybe then he'll keep you warm and wait until you have woken up to leave your bed. You curse yourself for filling your mind with false illusions. But that doesn't stop you from forcing you bladder to pee once more as your trembling fingers struggle to open the box with cinnamon dreams hidden inside. You pray to God that it'll be positive.

Praying never got you anywhere, though.

{/}

One day, when you have lost all faith and your heart is still beating but you're not alive, you'll become blind. Until then, he's the only thing you'll see.

{\}

He's walking toward you, long strides bringing him closer. You try to disregard the taste of his lips on yours as you strive to regain your sanity. He barely glances at you, but you take no notice. Your vision revolves around him and how his hair falls perfectly over olive skin and how his awkward walk is too cute to bear.

How he's not walking with Jade or Tori, or any other whore. Maybe it's finally your turn, to be Mrs. Oliver. He towers over you, but you don't hesitate to link your fingers with his, a flawless blend of skin tones creating their own color.

He stops and caresses your thumb with his heart-stained lips. You savor it, and wonder if he is, too. His eyes are apologizing, but you don't know why because you're not sorry. He lets go and your hand falls to your side, mimicking a tower plunging to its death.

You pretend that he spins around and sprints back to you, his mistake now clear. That he twirls you around just like in those retarded romance novels and whispers sweet words into your lips just as you had.

And then, you look at the swollen groves on your wrists and realize that you don't deserve a happy ending.

{/}

Once upon a dream, Cat Valentine had her heart scalded.

She named the scar Beck.

**So, hope you liked it because I'm not too pleased with it myself.**

**Review and tell me what you think, 'kay?**

**For Pen10's contest.**

**Dedicated to Lady Gaga just because her birthday is the 28****th**** and she's my role model. She'll never read this but it's the thought that counts, right?**

**Right.:)**


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